the key, put his hands in his pockets, and began to whistle. He went past her, across the overthrown furniture and other litter on the floor, without attempting to pick up anything, finally striding over the clock-case to reach the outer door. "You will find plenty to amuse you here," he said. He unlocked the door and locked it again outside. She heard him take away the key. All the people about the place thought that they had both gone out, for everything was fastened--even the sitting-room doors, which was not, as a rule, done. By nine o'clock perfect silence reigned over the homestead, both within and without. It was late in August, and there was no moon. At ten o'clock a man walked hurriedly up the avenue. He saw no light in any part of the great building. He mounted the steps and entered the hall, where the darkness obliged him to grope his way to the room-door. He was evidently unfamiliar with the place. He knocked, but received no answer. He tried the door, it was fast. He knocked again, thundered, waited, but no one came. Again he knocked, louder than before, and called "Tomasine." "Yes," was answered at once from within. A moment later, close by the door, "Is that you, father?" "Can you not open the door?" He knew by her voice that she was crying. "Where is the key, then?" "John took it with him when he went out." A moment's silence, and then the question, "Has he locked you in, then?" "Yes," was the answer amid her sobs. She heard him turn away again and descend the steps, and, to her astonishment, go away without a single word. She needed some one so much. It was unbearable. She began to feel frightened, for it must have some meaning. Why did he go? Where was he going? To meet Kurt! What would happen? The blood began to circulate again in her half-clad body, for as Kurt had left her she still remained. She hurried to the window, but could see nothing, and at the same moment she heard some one on the steps again. She ran to the door, but could not tell by the footsteps who was coming, they advanced so cautiously. "Is it you, father?" she asked. "Yes, it is I, with the keys," he answered. He came in, and she fell sobbing on his breast. She began to speak, but he interrupted her. "Yes, yes, you have nothing more to be frightened about." Then he told her plainly and shortly that John Kurt was dead. "They are now at the steps, with the body." Partly from her father, partly at a later time from other people, she learned that John Kurt had eaten and drunk heavily at dinner, becoming more and more excited. On leaving the table he swore by life and death that he would go to a disreputable house. That would be such devilish good fun for Tomasine. They tried to control him, but he became perfectly beside himself, staggered forward, and fell dead. No floral temple was built on the steps for John Kurt to be laid in. CHAPTER VI